Folies d'Amour
by DRL
Summary: Quatre accompanies his father to the ballet and has an unexpectedly good time.
1. Default Chapter

**Folies d'Amour**

**By DRL**

**Part 1**

Quatre Winner sat back in the comfortable seat of the carriage and sighed inwardly. He glanced at his father beside him, and smiled as the older man chanced to do likewise, and their eyes met. He had agreed to accompany his father to the ballet out of a sense of duty rather than through any personal desire. His father had not taken another wife, nor had he really kept any female company since the death of Quatre's mother, so many years ago now that the young man had all but forgotten her. Quatre and his father lived alone, with the exception of their servants and retainers.

In those early years following his wife's tragic death, Quatre's father had looked after his young son, but now that Quatre was 18 years old and virtually a man, he had seen it as his duty to now look after his father and performing little acts of filial obligation such as accompanying him to the ballet or opera were merely a part of this duty. Other boys his age were already at university, preparatory to going out into society to find themselves a suitable heiress as a wife, who would bring them a good dowry and eventually a son to begin the cycle again. Quatre, however, was heir to a vast fortune and had no need of a dowry from any woman, absolutely no desire for a wife and only a mild curiosity about what it would be like to have a son. He preferred to remain at home with his father, much to the perplexity of his small, select circle of friends.

Quatre and his father wove their way arm in arm through the throng of bejewelled women and tail-coated men congregating in the opulent entrance foyer of the Opera House and made their way to their seats. In the carriage on the way to the theatre Quatre recalled his father explaining to him why they would not be occupying their customary box seats, although he could not for the life of him recall what the reason had actually been. It was all one to him at the end of the day. Whether viewed from the balcony, a box or the stalls, the ballet was a bore.

As the house lights went down and the orchestra struck up, Quatre settled down into his seat and prepared for a few hours of torpor. His father was seated next to the aisle and Quatre was seated beside him. On the other side of him sat a strikingly handsome young man, and beyond him a young woman, who Quatre took to be his sister because she was obviously a little older that he was and there was a distinct likeness between them. The young man had glanced up at Quatre as he took his seat, but he had registered no interest and had looked away again immediately, almost disdainfully Quatre thought. Despite this rudeness, Quatre decided that he liked the look of the young man beside him, with his floppy cinnamon hair and his piercing green eyes, so he surrendered to him the seat arm between them, and since his father had already taken possession of the other arm, Quatre found that he had nowhere to rest his elbows, and thus he encountered the first drawback of not being seated in a box, where the chairs were individual and each had two arms.

As the dancing began Quatre amused himself by admiring the buttocks and thighs of the male dancers on the stage. He found these thighs extremely beautiful, shaped to perfection by years of hard practice, long, slender and gracefully muscled; the buttocks pert, tight and also muscular. Strangely enough, considering his preferences, Quatre did not much care for the over-emphasised bulges at the groins of the male dancers, which he found rather vulgar. He contented himself with studying their thighs and buttocks.

Pleasant enough as it was at first to contemplate such a sublime topic, it was inevitable that Quatre's interest should diminish after a time, until eventually he found himself quite bored. The seats, though plush, were far from comfortable and he made a concerted effort not to disturb his father's enjoyment of the spectacle on the stage by fidgeting. To divert his mind he thought back to his most recent amorous encounter. Considering Quatre's sheltered life, the opportunity for these were few and his teenage masculine urges were fulfilled in the most part by Marcel, the younger of the two grooms his father employed. The lad was about two and twenty, a few years Quatre's senior, comely enough in a clean, scrubbed sort of way and willing too, if a little pedestrian in his methods. For want of any more palatable fodder, Quatre had fallen back on Marcel's rustic charms on several occasions. He now strove to recall their last intimate encounter in as vivid a detail as he could, as a means of passing the time.

The memory of the encounter was a pleasant one and had a rousing effect on Quatre. The pressure of his trousers on this upright part successfully diverted his attention from the stage and with any luck would retain his interest until the interval. He glanced down with affection into his lap, trying to discern in the darkened auditorium the long bulge he knew to be in the front of his trousers, but he was embarrassed to see that, in sitting with his legs apart to accommodate his enjoyable stiffness, his left knee was touching the thigh of the young man in the seat beside him.

'How very rude he must think me', was his first thought, to be followed almost immediately by the pleasing realisation that the young man had not moved his leg away. By way of experiment Quatre withdrew his knee from contact with his neighbour, waited a moment or two, then moved it back. The young man did not flinch from the pressure, but nor did he return it. Could it be, Quatre wondered, that he was so engrossed in the spectacle on the stage that he was unaware that a stranger's leg was pressing against his own? Quatre glanced up at the dancers cavorting senselessly about on the stage. No, he doubted it.

Slowly, for he had no desire to attract the attention of his father, which any sudden movement would surely do, Quatre half-turned his head to look at his unknown neighbour and studied his profile as best he could from the corner of one eye. He was no more than 20 years old, he thought, but probably younger, possibly closer to Quatre's own age. His hair, as had already been observed before the house lights had gone down, was a rich cinnamon colour, which now looked a dull brown in the darkened theatre, and was neatly trimmed although a thick forelock fell across his brow, all but concealing one clear, green eye. His forehead was high and smooth, betokening intelligence and his fine eyebrows described an elegant arch. His chin, beneath a stubborn, uncompromising mouth, was firm and showed decisiveness of character, in Quatre's estimation. Altogether a most charming person to be seated next to, but how was he to make the young man's acquaintance - this was the question that Quatre now pondered. Under different circumstances he would have introduced himself and hoped for the best but under these conditions, so bold an enterprise was impossible.

Quatre's hands lay on his thighs, for without the benefit of arm-rests his only other options were either to fold his arms across his chest or to clasp his hands in his lap. Quatre let his left hand brush against his neighbour's serge-clad knee, so lightly that it might be considered accidental and he would be able to apologise profusely for his clumsiness if the young man raised any objection. He made no move at all. Emboldened, Quatre let his hand lie along his thigh close to the knee, in such a way that the whole side of his palm was in light contact with the stranger's own knee. Quatre thought he detected a tiny quiver of his neighbour's leg at the touch, but he did not pull away from the contact. The delicate warmth of his flesh through the fine serge of his trousers made Quatre sigh with pleasure.

Upon the distant stage the dancers were flinging themselves about in a creative frenzy that went totally unnoticed by Quatre. His attention was concentrated on the knee which his fingers were now caressing without pretence. A cautious half-glance at its owner's face showed that he was still looking directly ahead at the stage, but even in the dim light Quatre perceived that his head was tilted slightly back, his eyelids were almost closed and his delicate lips were parted slightly. Who could he be, Quatre wondered, this enchanting young man who allowed him the exquisite pleasure of stroking his leg in a public place?

By now Quatre's hand had moved beyond its starting point, had dipped slowly between the slightly parted knees to caress the tender inside of his neighbour's thigh. Again that delicious little tremour! This time Quatre was sure that he shot him a quick glance from the corner of his eye. Quatre was enraptured by having the boredom of sitting through a ballet performance dispelled in so unexpected and exciting a manner. If all the male dancers on the stage had, at that moment, stripped themselves and continued the ballet stark naked, they could not have wrested his attention from the secret delight of his hand gently stroking the taught thigh of his unknown neighbour.

Quatre's hand moved higher still, and to his utter delight his neighbour shifted his position, furtively but definitely, so that his legs were further parted and Quatre could proceed completely unimpeded. The skin beneath the fine fabric of the stranger's trousers felt smooth as satin and warm to the touch; a combination of delights that so aroused Quatre that he felt a prickle of perspiration in his armpits. Ahead of him lay that incredible moment when his fingers, gliding slowly up that stretch of taught thigh, would encounter the prize at the junction with the opposite thigh. Quatre's mind reeled in sensual anticipation.

But it was not to be. A scant inch away from the apex and his neighbour's warm thighs suddenly snapped closed on Quatre's hand, trapping it between them and forbidding any further exploration. As Quatre's mind struggled to comprehend this sudden development, the stranger took firm hold of his wrist and sharply drew his hand away from him completely. A moment later the music stopped, the curtain came down and the house lights went up. The audience began to applaud.

"Magnificent!" Cried Quatre's father as he clapped his hands together enthusiastically, "Superb!"

"Quite superb!" Quatre agreed at once, although his praise was intended for the young man seated beside him, "The experience of a lifetime."

Mr Winner looked appreciatively at his son.

"I have never known you to be so enthusiastic about the ballet before." He said delightedly, then his brow creased with concern and he looked closely at his son. "Are you feeling alright? You look a little flushed."

"The experience was... enthralling. There is no other word to describe it Papa." Quatre pitched his voice so that he could be overheard by his neighbour. His father smiled a grateful smile.

"Come along," The older man said, "Let us get something to drink. A small cognac perhaps?"

During the interval Quatre though furiously about how he was to make the acquaintance of the enchanting creature who had provided him with a most memorable interlude. He caught sight of him once or twice in the crowd, talking to the woman he was now sure was his sister. He could hardly walk up to the young man on the pretext that he had met him before, not with that formidable young woman at his side. She was attractive after a severe fashion, and she hovered over her brother with a proprietorial air that Quatre quite resented, although he had no real right to.

"Papa," He said, turning to his father, "That young lady over there – the one with the black silk gown and the jet bead necklace – she looks familiar to me somehow. Is she not the daughter of an acquaintance of yours? Perhaps I have seen her whilst paying a call on someone with you." Mr Winner turned to look.

"The girl with the auburn curls talking to the handsome young man you mean?"

"Yes, that's the one."

"No, I don't think I've ever had the pleasure."

Quatre shrugged. It had been a stab in the dark. He excused himself and, in the privacy of the gentlemen's restroom, scribbled a few words on the back of one of his visiting cards.

The second part of the ballet was a sheer delight for Quatre. No sooner had the house lights lowered than his hand found its way between the legs of the young man beside him. This time he went straight to the object of his desire without preamble. As his eager hand closed about the warm mound at the apex of his neighbour's thighs, an incredible joy surged through his heart at the touch. Wild thoughts whirled through Quatre's mind. More than anything he wanted to be alone with this marvellous young man, to take him in his arms, to kiss his lips. Above all he was full of an insane desire to press his lips to the warm and tender flesh where his hand now rested.

He gently stroked, kneaded and caressed the young man's private member through the fabric barrier, his own stiff part quivering deliciously within the confines of his trousers. He risked a glance at his neighbour's face in the dark, but the young man did not return the look – he stared fixedly at the stage, even though his mouth was opened in what Quatre was convinced was a faint sigh of pleasure. Ceasing his gentle ministrations, Quatre felt for the tiny buttons that fastened the fly of the stranger's trousers and proceeded to unfasten them. At the very threshold of success however, he felt his hand thrust briskly aside once more. The orchestra reached a climactic finale and the audience applauded the end of the performance.

With regret that his joy had ended, Quatre collected himself and swiftly put the plan he had formulated into action before the house lights went up. He withdrew the visiting card he had scribbled on during the interval from the pocket of his waistcoat and, standing to join an ovation for a performance he had barely seen, he slipped it into the waistcoat pocket of the young man. He took his father's arm and prepared to lead him out of the auditorium. The young man did not so much as glance in Quatre's direction as he and his sister made their preparations to depart. Seeing his face so full and so close, Quatre was struck by the exquisite refinement of his appearance and the air of slight haughtiness in the cast of his features. All this notwithstanding, he had permitted Quatre, a complete stranger, such intimacies. Between his appearance and his actions was so great a contradiction that Quatre was at a loss to understand it, but he was determined to do so, but would the young man keep the assignation he had scribbled on the back of the visiting card?

tbc

10


	2. Part 2

**Folies d'Amour**

**By DRL**

**Part 2**

From the moment his father and he left the Opera House, the beautiful stranger was constantly in Quatre's thoughts and that night he dreamed of him, as was perhaps to be expected since the young man had made so formidable an impression on him. He woke the next morning feeling refreshed and full of hope for what the day might bring. He breakfasted in his bed – café au lait and two croissants still hot from the baker's oven, with butter and apricot preserve. After a leisurely bath, he dressed and then proceeded to haunt the elegant rooms and passageways of his father's palatial town residence with his tense and restless presence until the afternoon. Then he ordered the carriage to be prepared and brought to the mews, donned his best hat and his second-best coat (his best was in the process of having a stain removed from its sleeve by his valet), took up his stick and left the house.

He drove to the most beautiful square in town, climbed down and dismissed the carriage, telling the liveried coachman that he was not required to wait and that he would walk home. He watched as the gleaming black carriage clattered away along the cobbled street, then he removed his watch from his waistcoat pocket. Five minutes to three – he had timed it perfectly. On a fine spring afternoon the square was the perfect place for a rendezvous, but would he come? Would he keep the assignation that Quatre had scribbled on the card?

Quatre entered the pretty little garden in the centre of the square and stood near the fountain to admire the elegant old mansions of red brick and pale stone that surrounded the square. The sun was shining brightly, the spring flowers were in full bloom and the trees that the fringed the garden were just showing their pink and white blossom. The scene could not have been improved upon, but would he come? As the minutes ticked by Quatre forced himself to stroll slowly about the little garden in an attempt to contain his slowly rising agitation.

At ten minutes past three exactly Quatre caught sight of him entering the garden through the same gate he had fifteen minutes earlier. Breathing a heavy sigh of relief, he strode quickly towards him, barely able to contain his excitement and delight. The young man, whom Quatre had only previously seen in his evening clothes, was still the very picture of elegance in a charcoal-grey frock coat that fitted closely to the waist, then flared gently into a fuller skirt to his knees. It was trimmed with a collar of black velvet, matched by cuffs of the same fabric. His grey silk hat was beautifully brushed and gleamed in the sunlight, and in one gloved hand he held a silver-topped cane. Quatre's heart pounded in time with his steps as he hurried toward him, a welcoming smile on his lips, although the young man's own expression remained impassive.

They met close to the fountain. Quatre removed his hat and, on impulse, caught up one of the young man's gloved hands and pressed it fervently to his lips, the supple, silver-grey kid feeling wonderfully warm to the touch, just as his thigh had that night... He stared with affection into the young man's face, remembering each feature with pleasure. He was so beautiful, and his slight air of disdain enhanced his beauty enormously, in Quatre's opinion.

"I cannot tell you how enchanted I am to see you again." Quatre said effusively, imbuing the hackneyed words with a wealth of meaning by his sheer intensity.

"Your invitation was so... unusual that it was difficult for me to refuse." The young man replied, and Quatre was at once smitten by his voice, quiet and mellow, but at the same time masterful and compelling. "Shall we walk together a little?"

His words and manner were cool, Quatre noted, but the very fact that he had kept the assignation gave him hope. He offered the young man his arm and he slid it through Quatres without hesitation.

Arm in arm, they strolled at a leisurely pace around the square. Quatre was oblivious to the passers-by, the courting couples taking a turn about the square and the children playing beneath the stone arcades. He had his wish – he was alone with the marvellous young man of his dreams, but how ought he to proceed? At the ballet he had been allowed certain intimacies, perhaps under the influence of the music and the dance, but here and now – in the light of day? It might be that the young man regretted the generosity of his response to Quatre's advances the evening before and would repel him with indignation if he made reference to what had passed between them. Yet on the other hand, he had undoubtedly accepted the invitation, and had he not himself just alluded to what had occurred the night before, albeit obliquely? Quatre decided that frankness was the least dangerous approach to the delicate situation.

"My name is Quatre Raberba Winner, as you already know." He began. "I am unmarried, and of independent means. I live at the address you have seen on my card, with my widowed father, whom you saw last evening at the ballet." The young man said nothing for a while, and just as the lengthy pause was becoming uncomfortable, he spoke.

"You have told me nothing that I did not already know or could not guess." He said.

He stopped walking and turned to look at Quatre. He was a whole half-head taller than was Quatre, and the forelock of hair that had fallen across his face the previous evening had been brushed back and was held in abeyance by his hat, so both of his green eyes fixed Quatre with their uncompromising gaze. As Quatre stared into their emerald depths he felt as though he would surely swoon.

"What I would like to know, Quatre Raberba Winner, is whether you are a man of spirit." At Quatre's confused frown he continued. "The truth is that my life is dull, has always been dull and promises to always remain dull. I wish it to become adventurous and unpredictable. Last night at the theatre, after your... advances, I decided that you might be the person to make that happen. Was I mistaken?" He arched an elegant eyebrow by way of enquiry, and Quatre almost did swoon, but he recovered himself before he lost this enchanting creature for ever by such a display of weakness.

"Not in the least." He replied quickly.

"Really?" The young man did not trouble to conceal his scepticism. "You were bold enough under cover of a darkened theatre, but how bold are you in the cold light of day?"

Quatre surprised even himself with his response to this challenge. Taking the young man decisively by the hand, he led him the short distance across the lawn to a nearby tree. He tossed his hat and stick onto the turf at his feet, and did likewise with those of his companion. As Quatre pulled off the young man's hat the stray forelock of hair fell forward, once more concealing one eye. Quatre decided that he liked it better this way, but this was no more than a passing though. Quatre pushed the young man roughly up against the tree, took his hands and brought them together above his head, effectively pinioning him in place, and proceeded to kiss him with every ounce of the pent up passion and burning desire he had been keeping in check since the previous evening. He crushed their lips and bodies together, grinding his hardening member against the other's and feeling an answering stiffness, caressing the young man's tongue with his. Quatre felt him relax beneath the press of his body, abandoning himself to the moment, kissing him back with a delicious intensity, as if he had been waiting for this moment all his young life.

The kiss seemed to last forever, and when their lips finally parted (although their bodies remained pressed together), Quatre noticed that the young man was breathing as heavily as he was, and his eyes were closed in an expression of ecstasy, as they had been the previous night at the ballet. He finally opened them, and looked over Quatre's shoulder.

"You appear to have created quite a spectacle Mr Winner." He said with a tight smile.

Quatre reluctantly separated his body from the young man's, lowered his hands and turned around. A small crowd had gathered and were watching them, open mouthed and incredulous. One woman had her hand to her mouth and her eyes were stricken with horror. Another was ushered briskly away by the man who accompanied her, as though from a sight he deemed unfit for a lady's eyes. So roughly was one small child pulled away from the scene by her governess that she began a keening wail that rapidly diminished as she was led away. Displaying a _sang froid_ that he hardly knew he possessed, Quatre bent, retrieved their hats and sticks, gave his arm to his companion, rejoined the path and continued to stroll along, as if nothing amiss had occurred.

As calm as he outwardly appeared, Quatre's heart pounded against his ribcage. This was indeed a bold move, and quite possibly a rash one. Gentlemen strolling together arm in arm, as they were doing now, was a common enough sight, but this was universally acknowledged as a purely platonic gesture. They definitely did not kiss and fondle each other in a public park! Perhaps the lower classes did such things in the back alleys of the slums, but gentlefolk – never! Polite society preferred to pretend that such things did not happen, so it offended their delicate and disingenuous sensibilities to be forced to witness such a spectacle. It occurred to him to wonder whether anyone he knew had seen them, but the thought gained no purchase in his whirling mind.

"Was that bold enough for you?" He asked as they approached the entrance gate to the square. He was well aware that he had acquitted himself admirably.

"Oh yes," The young man murmured in reply, "You are more marvellous than I could have imagined."

Quatre's heart soared.

They left the square, and proceeded along the street, picking their way carefully between the chairs and tables outside the cafes and the stalls of the street vendors selling flowers, newspapers and various other wares. On a sudden whim, Quatre stopped at a flower stand, gave a coin in exchange for a single, small bloom and, turning to his companion, fastened it to the lapel of his coat.

"Thank-you." The young man said, and smiled a bright, affectionate smile that lit up every beautiful feature of his countenance. It was the first real warmth that Quatre had received from his mysterious companion since they had met and if he had keeled over and breathed his last at that very moment, Quatre would have died the happiest of men.

As they walked Quatre taxed his brain as he sought in vain for delights he could introduce his companion to. He could scarce believe the very little he had found out about the young man so far. His appearance was so refined, his manner so well-bred, and yet his words implied a secret desire for incredible sensations, which Quatre was delighted to see that he had already begun to provide. He thought furiously. Merely to take him to a hotel and make love to him was unconscionable. This was not Quatre's conception of an adventure, but if he was honest with himself, this is exactly what he had in mind when he had scribbled the invitation.

"Well?" The young man suddenly demanded, breaking into Quatre's thoughts, "Are we to walk the streets all afternoon, or are you going to astonish me?"

"Certainly I am," Quatre replied with more confidence than he felt, "But first give me your name." This he had asked as means of purchasing some much-needed time to come up with somewhere to take his pleasure-seeking companion, but it was a point that good manners ought to have led him to have raised well before this.

"My name is Trowa. That is all you need to know."

"No family name, no address, nothing, just Trowa?" Quatre was somewhat taken aback by this reticence.

"I will tell you the rest when you have earned it, not one moment before."

"Very well, Trowa is enough for me."

Quatre developed a sudden spring in his step and, hailing a passing street urchin, he whispered in the child's ear and handed him a coin. Smiling, he watched as the boy turned and scampered away, dodging expertly between the horse-drawn carriages that thronged the streets. He had just had an idea, and he was feeling particularly pleased with himself.

"When do you have to be home to dress for dinner?" Quatre asked of his companion.

"Six thirty," Came the reply, "We have guests coming."

"Capital, we have sufficient time. Prepare for the experience of your life."

tbc

9


	3. Part 3

**Folies d'Amour**

**By DRL**

**Part 3**

The private hotel that Quatre conducted Trowa to was not a hotel at all in the usual sense of the word. It was a large, elegant townhouse, situated in a fashionable street. To all outward appearances it was completely innocuous and absolutely anonymous, with no identifying markings or signage on the exterior of the building, its only declaration being a brass number on the entrance door. The establishment offered, to those who could afford the considerable cost, elegantly furnished bedrooms, and even more elegantly furnished suites of rooms, to lovers who desired to entertain their beloved for a few hours in luxury and in privacy. The house was popular with men entertaining other men's wives and also with men of Quatre's persuasion, entertaining other men.

As they entered the brightly lit vestibule, they were greeted by a smartly dressed man of middle age, genial aspect and ingratiating manner, who took their hats and sticks. He addressed Quatre by name and assured him that 'everything was in readiness', then he ordered a waiting footman to convey the couple to their suite.

As they ascended the sweeping staircase, covered with a plush red carpet into which their feet sank a full inch, Quatre stole a glance at Trowa beside him. The young man looked mildly curious, but there was no trace of the annoyance that Quatre had feared. Hitherto there had been nothing to indicate that building they had entered was anything more that what it appeared to be, a sumptuously appointed private residence. However, Quatre was sure that his companion was no fool. He was sure to have guessed by now the true nature of the place to which he had been brought and Quatre was watching for the slightest show of annoyance or disapproval.

The drawing and smoking rooms they passed were empty, and when they reached a door at the end of the long 1st floor corridor, the footman threw it open and preceded them into a large sitting room, in which a roaring fire blazed in the marbled fireplace, despite the clemency of the weather. Having assured them that he was at their command, the footman withdrew and left them alone.

"Well," Quatre said turning to face Trowa, "Here we are."

"Yes," Trowa replied with an expression of amused indulgence, "But where exactly are we?"

In order to avoid the question, Quatre crossed the room to a small side table on which stood a decorative silver champagne cooler. The foil-topped neck of a bottle emerged from the cooler, nestled within a bed of ice. He withdrew the bottle and proceeded to open it, decanting the contents into two champagne saucers. Trowa had joined him and was standing at his elbow. He took the glass that Quatre offered him and quirked an eyebrow.

"I do believe you have brought me to a house of assignation, Mr Winner." He said, but his green eyes sparkled with mirth.

"Do you mind terribly?" Quatre asked nervously.

"Not at all." Trowa replied. He raised his glass. "Here's to an interesting afternoon." They both drank deeply, then Quatre relieved Trowa of his glass, took him by the hand and led him through a doorway into a bedroom.

The room had a certain _fin-de-siécle_ charm that seemed to please Trowa. He cast a long, appraising glance around the room, taking in the appointments, from the long curtains of dark red velvet, decorated with tasselled trim, to the vast bed, ornamented in white and gold with an oval plaque of porcelain let into its woodwork, painted with a small, chubby Cupid preparing to loose an arrow from his tiny bow. Quatre tore his eyes from his companion long enough for him to slip quickly into an adjoining room. He emerged almost immediately, pulling the door to behind him.

"Now my dear Trowa," He said as he approached the tall young man, "Are you ready for an adventure?"

He silently unfastened the buttons of Trowa's coat, keeping his eyes locked with his companion's, watching for any sign of disapprobation. He detected none, and he gently slid the garment from Trowa's broad shoulders and allowed it to fall to the floor. Slowly and sensuously he did the same with Trowa's waistcoat, shirt, tie and trousers, until he stood naked but for an exquisitely flimsy cotton undergarment that hid his manhood from Quatre's eager gaze (but only just). Trowa stood in the graceful attitude of a dancer, one foot extended slightly forward and his fingers loosely clasped behind his back, so that Quatre could admire his slender figure. As he allowed his eyes to drink in the sight before him, Quatre sighed in delight.

"You are truly beautiful." He murmured in a breathy whisper, "The most beautiful being I have ever seen."

Enraptured, Quatre sank to the floor and kissed Trowa's bare knees, his fingertips lightly caressing the backs of his long thighs. By stages his hands moved up the loose legs of Trowa's diaphanous undergarment until he could squeeze and stroke the tender cheeks of the tall young man's buttocks. Eventually he gently pulled himself away and rose to his feet, fearing that he was boring his pleasure-seeking companion, although Trowa gave every indication of enjoying w hat was being done to him.

"Come," He said decisively, and took Trowa by the hand, "I am going to bathe you in champagne."

Trowa's green eyes opened wide and his languid expression was replaced with one of genuine astonishment. Quatre knew that he had struck the right note.

"In champagne," He exclaimed. "How magnificent!"

"Every great beauty has been bathed in champagne by a special admirer," Quatre continued, "And as the greatest of them, you deserve no less, and I shall consider it a sacred privilege to be allowed to perform this sumptuous rite for you."

He led Trowa into the room he had discreetly inspected earlier. It was a spacious and ornate bathroom, and around nine or ten cases of finest quality champagne were piled neatly in a corner. Quatre settled Trowa on a chair, having retrieved his glass of champagne from the bedroom, and the tall young man sat, his bare knees gracefully crossed, sipping his wine and watching in total fascination as Quatre discarded his jacket and set to work popping corks and pouring fizzing champagne into the large onyx bath. The delicate fumes of the wine filled the air making Trowa's eyes sparkle.

"But this is quite mad!" He exclaimed, laughing and Quatre thought that if he lived to be 100, he would never again hear a sound as beautiful as that laughter.

"Yes it is." He agreed, laughing with him as he stood, a bottle in each hand, champagne streaming into the bath.

Quatre worked quickly, tearing open the cases, unwiring the corks and opening the bottles with a deft twist, until he had emptied the contents of around eight dozen bottles and the floor was littered with foil, wires, corks and empty bottles.

"Now," He exclaimed, "Your bath is ready, my prince." He turned to Trowa and took his hands, one in each of his own. Quatre lightly kissed the palms of both hands and then the inside of each wrist, then he took Trowa gently in his arms to kiss his adorable mouth. Trowa let out a moan of pleasure.

"Oh Quatre," He breathed, using Quatre's given name for the first time, "I think I'm falling a little in love with you."

Spurred on by these words and Trowa's lapse into familiarity, Quatre slipped the wispy cotton undergarment over the globes of Trowa's bottom and down his silky-smooth thighs to pool at his feet.

"You are truly beautiful." He said, stepping back to fully take in Trowa's glorious nakedness.

"Truly?" Trowa said, as if unsure.

"Utterly and breathtakingly beautiful." Quatre answered. "Give me your hand."

With great courtesy he helped Trowa into the bath. He lay back in the pale gold champagne, a sight that dazzled Quatre's senses. The delicate pink tips of his nipples showed above the surface and the rest of his long, svelte body and legs were visible through the wine. Quatre gazed at him and wondered at the good fortune that had made it possible for him to attract the interest of a young man as beautiful as Trowa. Those nipples of his were works of fine art in their perfection Quatre mused, as much a delight to the eye of the connoisseur as to his sense of touch, though he fully intended to explore the truth of this in due course. For the moment he was content to regale his eyes with the sight of Trowa's exquisite body. His elegantly formed and beautifully proportioned sex lay cradled between his slender hips in so artistic a manner that Quatre's heart missed a beat. To kiss it would be enchanting! There, at the join of his long thighs, nestled within thick cinnamon curls that simply invited the fingers to comb through them.

"How the bubbles tickle," Trowa exclaimed with a tinkly little laugh that broke Quatre's reverie, "I love it!"

"Open your thighs and raise your hips a little," Quatre suggested, "Let the bubbles burst against your most sensitive parts."

Trowa arched his eyebrows at the frankness of the suggestion, but he crooked his knees and parted them as widely as the bath allowed, raising his hips slightly.

"Oh," He cried a few seconds later, "Oh Quatre, the sensation is incredible!"

Quatre watched him for a while as his eyes half-closed in his enjoyment of the tiny tickling of the champagne bubbles against the tender flesh of his sex and the sensual nodule between the cheeks of his bottom. Then throwing off the spell of the naked beauty before him with reluctance, he tore open another case, popped two corks and let the frothing wine pour down over Trowa's pert nipples.

"Oh yes, yes," Trowa moaned with delighted pleasure, "Oh Quatre – how marvellous!" He arched his back so as to raise his chest to receive the cascade of pale wine, his expression one of surprise and pleasure. Quatre quickly opened two more bottles and poured again from as high as he could hold the bottles, directing the two streams of champagne onto the taught pink buds, where the wine foamed and sprayed out in a great torrent.

Quatre noted a change in Trowa's expression. The surprise had been replaced with that look of slight hauteur that he had at first feared but had begun to love. Trowa's thinking had adjusted to the situation, he surmised, and he had now come to terms with receiving such homage from so ardent an admirer, perhaps deeming it no more than was his due.

"Again!" Trowa demanded when the bottles were empty, and again Quatre cascaded the foaming wine onto his pink buds, which were now engorged and firm.

When the bottles were empty, Quatre set them down and reached for a large fluffy towel. He helped Trowa from the bath and wrapped him in the towel, which was large enough to cover him from shoulders to knees. Quatre led him back into the bedroom, laid him on the broad bed and unwrapped him with a delicacy bordering on reverence. His own clothes were off in seconds and he was beside Trowa, kissing and caressing him. Trowa lay with his arms outstretched, hands clasped above his head, and sighed in great contentment as Quatre kissed and suckled the tips of his nipples, relishing the taste of the champagne.

"I am definitely a little in love with you." He murmured for the second time.

"And I with you Trowa." Quatre replied fervently, his lips moving over the flat plane of Trowa's stomach, his hand between his thighs, closing at last over the warm treasure he had been denied at the ballet the previous evening. He pressed his lips to the damp curls that also tasted of champagne and then closed them around the thick shaft that protruded from them.

They were both a little drunk from the fumes of so much wine. Trowa's hands grasped him firmly by the shoulders and pulled him upwards. At once Quatre slid on top of him and as Trowa legs moved apart, brought his stiff projection to the tight pucker of Trowa's rear entrance.

The thought had been in his mind earlier, after what Trowa had told him of the dullness of his life, that he might well be a virgin still. Quatre pushed firmly but gently to overcome any such difficulty, but the ease of his entry proved Trowa to be otherwise. At this supreme moment Quatre tried to reign in his passion and to proceed at a canter rather than a gallop to prolong the uniqueness of his first lovemaking with Trowa, but the young man's beautiful face so close to his own expressed such pure delight at what Quatre was doing to him and the feel of that enchanting body beneath his was so stirring that, try as he might, nothing could restrain the sensations that overwhelmed him. His loins bucked wildly and Trowa cried out in pleasure as Quatre's passion erupted hotly within him. Trowa himself fared no better as his own passion poured forth scant seconds later.

Afterwards, they lay together in each other's arms, too spent to do anything more than kiss each other lightly, caress each other's hair and exchange murmured endearments.

"I'd better get you home or you will be late for dinner." Quatre said at length. Trowa sighed heavily.

"Yes, I suppose so." He reluctantly agreed.

They rose, hurriedly dressed themselves and descended the stairs to the vestibule, where they retrieved their hats and sticks and went out into the street. Quatre hailed a hansom and Trowa gave the driver an address in a fashionable street of elegant townhouses, not far from the park where they met. They lowered the blinds of the cab and spent the entire journey locked in each other's arms, exchanging passionate kisses and fervent endearments. When the cab drew up outside Trowa's house he kissed Quatre one last time and said,

"My name is Trowa Barton, my love. Send me word soon."

Quatre rapped on the ceiling of the cab with his stick and the driver moved off, while Quatre sat back and sighed contentedly as he thought about how, in a few short hours, he had changed from a man deeply in carnal lust to a man wholeheartedly in love.

10


End file.
